


The Host

by idanato



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Agarthan replacements, Assassination, Blood, Established Relationship, F/M, Home surgery, Horror, Mind Control, Other, Post-Canon, Spies, Tension, Thriller, dinner party gone wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idanato/pseuds/idanato
Summary: Hubert and Dorothea are one step away from removing Thales when they discover Hubert has been compromised. However, the show must go on. Good thing Dorothea knows how to throw a killer dinner party.---Mercedes forced a smile and held up the slimy scale, “Don’t panic, but, I think this is a bit more than a tumor.”
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 11
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

The most insidious aspect of becoming an unwitting host for an Agarthan was not the way ones face was stolen to destroy ones friends and family; it was that the host remained present, in a sense, while their life was set aflame. They knew enough to sense that things were off without being able to fully recognize just how very wrong things were. There were small hints and clues, like time lost here and there, but one could live for years perfectly unaware a parasite had taken root inside them. Such was the nature of their enemy.

Volkhard von Arundel was by all accounts a loving brother and uncle, at least up until 1174. Like most far northern Adrestians he had a strong faith in the Goddess, granted with the Western Church’s particular flavor of dogma, and was considered an upstanding member of the gentry. He was not a notably ruthless politician, and his reluctant participation in the Insurrection of the Seven had been a final gamble to save his sister, a consort of the doomed Emperor, and her daughter, Princess Edelgard.

He was a man who was trying his best for those he loved. Little did he know that made him a perfect target for a high ranking Agarthan to take over his life down to the very last molecule. Volkhard _knew_ something was wrong, but it was not a disease of his body or mind that was causing these long stretches of altered memories and waking nightmares. It was a disease of his soul.

The horror of becoming an Agarthan host was not in being a veritable flesh suit, but in the powerlessness of staying alive. Therefore, when the approval for the assassination of Lord Arundel rolled across her desk, Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg had but a single request: try to separate Arundel from Thales and save the man who had once given everything to save her. Failing that, she simply asked that it be quick.

The assassination would occur on the seventh of Red Wolf Moon at 144 West Canal Street, the quiet address of Hubert von Vestra. This dinner party had been on the calendar for months, but the plot had been in Hubert’s heart for decades. The killing of Thales was meticulously planned to the minute. Tonight it would happen exactly as the second course was taken away.

In the hours leading up to the dinner, Dorothea expected Hubert to be on edge, maybe even slightly distracted, as they put the final preparations into place. She was not expecting to find him in the bathroom with his own folding razor flush against his neck.

Little crimson beads were blossoming along his skin as Dorothea repeated his name with increasing worry. Hubert continued staring at his reflection while slowly dragging the blade along his external jugular vein. One hand white knuckle gripped the counter as his eyes stayed fixed on what he was seeing in the mirror.

“Hubert,” shouted Dorothea and finally his eyes adjusted in their focus. The razor fell impotent into the basin of the sink.

Hubert’s hand trembled as he wiped the scant traces of blood from his neck. His gaze found its way towards his most trusted partner in this dastardly assassination plot. “Something is wrong,” he announced before falling unconscious to the floor.

The doctor and her assistant arrived at the service entrance of the Vestra private residence. Why Mercedes insisted on donning one of those horrible black beaked masks, Dorothea would never understand. “I’ve told you, it protects me from pathogens,” said Mercedes as she reluctantly removed it. “Where is he?”

“He’s still in the bathroom, he won’t come out,” said Dorothea as she looked at the manacles in Jeritza’s hands. This was Hubert, not a common criminal, and not a Slither. He was just overtaxed and wound up by stress; he wasn’t _replaced_.

“He’s awake? Show me,” said Mercedes as she exchanged a cryptic glance with her brother.

Mercedes maintained a lovely, calm bedside manner as she knocked upon the locked bathroom door. “Hubert, darling, I’m here with Emile. You’ve had a fall, we’re just here to help you.”

“Don’t come in, something isn’t right,” said Hubert from the other side of the door. He sounded shaken to his core.

Dorothea pounded on the wood, “Open the goddess damned door Hubert.” Watching him casually trying to slit his own throat had fully frayed her nerves.

“No,” said Hubert. She could hear him shifting inside the room trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and her. “Dorothea, you cannot come it. We don’t know how it spreads—”

“Hubert, mind your tongue,” warned Mercedes in a grave voice. They still had no idea how a person became an Agarthan host, and it was unclear how the parasite functioned once embedded. For all they knew it could have access to his very thoughts, and thus all the carefully arranged plans for the evening.

Mercedes gave Dorothea a mournful stare. Her sweet voice dropped to a grave whisper, “I’m going in. You need to stay away until we are sure he is contained.” With that the doctor fixed her mask over her face and gave her hulking brother a nod. Jeritza was opening that door whether Hubert consented or not.

Dorothea waited in his bedroom with her fingers clawing at her scalp. Her head migrated towards her knees as she curled up in despair. When had it happened? How long had he been compromised? Could he even be fixed? Was anyone else not who they appeared to be—

There was an alarming bang from the bathroom and Dorothea could smell a faint trace of dark magic, like a rot, in the air. She could not help herself but to hover at the door trying to get a look at what was happening out on the landing. She caught sight of Hubert’s limp feet as Jeritza swept him down the stairs. Mercedes quickly blocked Dorothea’s view, “I’ve sedated him.” It sounded very much like Mercedes’ sedation technique had involved Mire or Miasma. The doctor paused for a moment and then let out a sorry sigh, “I have to check you too.”

Dorothea backed up in trepidation. “Oh, of course.”

“Have you lost any time?” asked Mercedes as she began to set up in the bedroom. It was a standard question between the architects of Agartha’s downfall, but the question had never felt so ominous to Dorothea.

Dorothea shook her head as she rubbed at her bare arms. Would she even know if there was something inside her? Having missed whatever had taken over Hubert made her second guess how well she knew the signs. “Is he going to be alright?”

Mercedes extracted a long probe from her black bag of horrors. “You know I cannot say either way,” said Mercedes as she gestured for Dorothea to undress. “Did you stay here last night?” asked Mercedes as the eye holes of her mask lingered on the unmade bed.

“He asked me to,” whispered Dorothea, even though that was solidly out of the norm. She had just assumed he was feeling nervous. Dorothea had been happy to accept.

“Are you sure it was him who asked?” whispered Mercedes. Dorothea declined to entertain such a question.

Dorothea stood as still as possible, arms out and feet spread, as Mercedes looked her over for anything out of place. “Do you think you could remove the mask, please, I cannot stand the sight of it,” said Dorothea. The beak brushed at her knee as Mercedes palpated Dorothea’s calf. The mask made Dorothea horribly nervous to associate sweet and loving Mercedes with the signature of their greatest enemy. Yet if Hubert, of all the careful people, could be compromised any of them could be.

“Until I have cleared you, no,” said Mercedes in a muffled voice. The tinted black glass over the eyes flashed in the light as Mercedes gave what Dorothea had to assume was a reprimanding glance behind the leather. A trained Agarthan needed only make eye contact to hypnotize an unsuspecting mark. Hence the need for the great scary masks; even Agarthans did not trust other Agarthans.

The exam stretched on as Mercedes checked Dorothea over a second time, asking again about every single little scar and bruise. Last the doctor opened up Dorothea’s eyes to inspect each with a magnifying glass. “I find nothing out of the ordinary,” said Mercedes as she finally removed her mask. She gestured to the base of her neck, “Here, I found something small and hard beneath Hubert’s skin. It was no bigger than my thumbnail, and it would have been easy to miss.”

The autopsies performed on the replaced found them riddled with strange tumors and lesions. Hearing that something was growing in Hubert made this all feel terrifyingly real. “But when could they have gotten him?” Dorothea felt ill as she wondered how many hours, days, weeks, or longer she had been working with a double agent. “How could I not have known?”

“Stop beating yourself up, he didn’t know either,” said Mercedes as she helped Dorothea with putting on her clothes for the party. “You have to focus on tonight. I will do my best to remove whatever has found its way inside him. Let us pray that it’s not a full replacement,” said Mercedes. Agarthans didn’t always take people as personal suits, sometimes the reduced them to mere mindless drones.

“Please let me talk to him,” whispered Dorothea even as she knew the answer would be no.

Mercedes pursed her lips as she finished tying the cords of Dorothea’s corset. “You’ll have to wear the mask and he’ll have to be restrained. You must not, no, you absolutely cannot discuss the plan for tonight. Do you understand?” Dorothea numbly nodded.

The mask was stuffy and dark and smelled of Mercedes most favorite perfume. Dorothea could just see through the tinted eye holes to make out Hubert in the poorly lit basement. Hubert, or not Hubert, was restrained at his very own interrogation table. They had blindfolded him as a precaution and his fingers were pinched beneath a metal bar so that he could not cast.

“Why is he bleeding?” asked Dorothea. Blood was dribbling out of Hubert’s nostrils and tracing around his lips.

Jertiza rubbed his knuckles and shrugged as he looked over at Hubert from behind his tinted spectacles. “He was not cooperating.”

She noticed now that Hubert had only managed to shave one side of his face before the incident. Goosebumps coursed along his exposed shoulders as condensation clung to his breath in the chilly basement. “He needs a blanket.” She shot Jeritza another angry look, “Well what are you waiting for? Go get one.” She needed just a moment alone with her partner.

“I’m so sorry,” whispered Hubert as Dorothea took her seat across from him. This was the first time she’d heard real fear in his voice in years. “I’ve put us all at risk.”

“Stop,” said Dorothea. If he kept talking like that she was going to lose her resolve. “I’ve sent for Byleth and Linhardt. We will find a way to fix you.”

Hubert’s head could only move so much as it angled to the side. His lips formed a pained line, “But if there is no fix, Dorothea, I—”

Dorothea wanted to rip the suffocating mask off herself. She could not bear to hear him tell her goodbye. “Stop, please, Hubert, I will take care of things. I will see this done.” With that she got up and left the basement and her _not_ Hubert behind. She had a dinner party to host, alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the co-conspirators alter their plans

Dorothea was not sure why on earth she had held hope that a second opinion from Linhardt would bring her any comfort. The lethargic scholar pulled his green hair back into a lazy bun as he looked over his case notes again. “Hubert described today as feeling like a dream, and that he was having trouble distinguishing sleeping from waking.”

“Is that not your specialty?” suggested Byleth with a playful glance in Linhardt’s direction as they fixed one of Hubert’s knives to their calf. It never hurt to have a spare. They were dressed in a smart plain style, and would be doing their best to blend in this evening.

Linhardt in contrast had worn fine emerald robes and shining silk slippers of a most unusual blue shade. He would tell people tonight that he’d bartered with Almyran pirates for such comfortable attire while traveling through the dunes of Morfis collecting ancient scrolls on crests. Dorothea knew the ensemble had come from the costume closet of the Mittelfrank because she had been the one to steal it. The most wild thing Linhardt had actually done in Morfis between digging about for artifacts was get his ear pierced in the style of the locals. He was meant to draw the eyes and ears of the guests not in on the plan. For someone who appeared so high above the pedestrian craving for attention he sure loved to tell a captive audience about his research.

Linhardt’s lip curled at Byleth’s suggestion as he flipped to the next page. His eyes came up to study Dorothea with an added ounce of scrutiny, “Has he been behaving oddly? I mean, more so than usual.”

Dorothea tried to focus on the last few days and anything that had felt off about Hubert. “He’s been distant,” she said. She pulled her black satin gloves up to each elbow and then worked on getting several long, lethal hairpins into her updo. “But that’s how he always gets during stressful times. He isolates himself and pushes everyone away.”

Linhardt let out a little contemptuous snort as he looked at Jeritza sitting in the corner of the room near the door to the cellar, “Sounds familiar.” Jeritza merely bared his teeth in response as his fist rolled open and shut around a handsome pair of knuckle-dusters. He would wait in the kitchen and not mix with the guests unless a situation arose.

“This is not the time to be at each other’s throats,” said Mercedes as she fixed her dainty earrings on. She was out of her doctor’s robes and in a modest cream colored dress. As everyone would tell it, their host Marquis von Vestra was so very unexpectedly ill that they did not have time to cancel. Mercedes was the natural choice for checking in upon him in his sickbed periodically through the night. As soon as the assassination was done, her saw was coming out and removing whatever was inside him.

Linhardt clapped his hands in an exaggerated show of approval. “I agree. We simply must recognize this for the excellent data collecting opportunity that it is,” said Linhardt as he adjusted his waistcoat. “We’ve never had a live one in our grasps like this.”

Dorothea applied her dark lipstick to keep herself from barking at him to cease his chatter. _Data_. This was Hubert, not a test subject nor one of Linhardt’s cadavers Jeritza got him through questionable means. Dorothea was grateful her lover bought her things like flowers, even if they were often poisonous.

Linhardt opened up his own healer’s kit and pulled out a dreadful long surgical knife to present to Mercedes, “This is what I could get you on short notice, what do you think?”

“Oh, darling, it’s beautiful,” whispered Mercedes in awe as she examined the implement as if it were a piece of art. “Thank you.”

Dorothea turned away from the exchange and the thoughts of where that tool was destined to go. Instead she stared at the mirror as she put on her entrancing necklace. It was dazzling with a great dark garnet at its heart, and had easily cost more than what she made in a year working for the opera. She remembered when Hubert had gotten it for her, and how it felt to have him fastening the clasp as the cool weight of the stone settings rested on her sternum. _How could anyone ever take their eyes off of you?_ , he whispered with lips brushing against her skin. That was how they worked, she shined and stole attention and he slipped in shadow to evade detection. Perfect foils. Dorothea wasn’t sure how she was now supposed to pull off both roles at once. Her gloved fingers glossed along the facing of the stone as she hoped it would catch Lord Arundel’s eyes this evening. If things went truly sideways with the night, she was going to resort to getting Arundel alone with her, even though that was something Hubert had explicitly ordered her to never do.

Dorothea smoothed down her scarlet skirts and pushed up her breasts. The garnet sat right where it needed to, just slightly ajar, and drew anyone’s eyes down and straight into her cleavage. Once stares settled there they had a tendency to linger just too long. “Alright, are you all satisfied with your finishing touches?” asked Dorothea as she spun around and took command of the room. She was an actor by training, and right now she channeled Hubert’s natural authority. They had learned their craft independently, but even as far back as school they had noticed the other acting all the time. Even when everyone else ignorantly assumed they knew what Dorothea and Hubert were really like, they both knew the other was hiding _something_ with a performance. Sometimes Dorothea regretted that it had taken them years to recognize it was the same damned thing, an unhealthy dose of self loathing, that they were both so desperate to cover up.

“We cannot enact the original plan and we must assume Hubert is compromised.” Her nostrils flared as she considered what might become of everyone in this room if their ringleader’s memories were exposed to their enemies. The assassination had to move forward, or they would surely be picked off one by one.

Dorothea looked at the seating chart and moved some cards around. “Mercedes, you will now sit closest towards the west door. It is nearest to the cellar stairs. Make sure no one sees you going down there.” Dorothea was hoping that Mercedes would have nothing to report from her check-ins with their prisoner in the basement.

Dorothea moved Linhardt to the head of the table where in an ideal world Hubert would have sat opposite from her. They liked the illusion of distance and how it paired with rumors of their closeness. No press was bad press when one was a famous, or maybe infamous, ex-diva of the Mittelfrank’s storied stage. Hubert needed no introduction as the Emperor’s most vicious war hound. They always made sure when they were seen together it was nowhere reputable. There were the late night calls to private addresses and early morning carriage rides home. Then there were the lavish kinds of gifts that suggested Hubert was squandering his late father’s fortune upon his insatiable mistress. Their guests might not even be scandalized by Hubert skipping out on dinner and leaving a commoner like her in charge because such behavior had become expected of them.

That clashed against Dorothea’s memories of the night before, which were now poisoned by Mercedes’ suggestion it hadn’t really been Hubert there with her in bed. She supposed in retrospect perhaps the things that he’d been saying hadn’t been like him at all, and merely who she wished he was. He had seemed scared, which was not like him but had made sense to her in the moment. He was scared of failing, and scared of losing her if they managed to succeed. _Stay with me_. Last night she’d been caught up in wondering if he meant for the night, or for life. Now she wondered who or what had said it and to what end.

“Lord Arundel may still be salvageable,” said Dorothea. In fact, she was very much praying that he was. She’d rather test their extraction techniques on Edelgard’s uncle before doing anything drastic to Hubert. “We will begin our evening as planned in the parlor.” That was when Hubert was planning on lacing Arundel’s wine with a sedative. It was expected to take until the end of the first course to really kick in and knock him out, at which point dinner would take a turn as the conveniently invited doctors helped the incapacitated royal.

Dorothea had to assume that Arundel knew whatever Hubert had planned, and would be suspicious of any beverages offered. This had led her to a last minute change. “No one is to eat the salmon canapés, those will now be where we place the sedative.”

“What about the other guests?” asked Byleth. “Isn’t that a little dangerous?” The dinner party was down to nine guests in total, four of whom were unknowingly there for atmosphere alone and nothing more. Manuela Casagranda, Hanneman von Essar, Constance von Nuvelle, and the Duke of Gerth were all invited to make this seem like a perfectly normal dinner party of Enbarr's elite.

“Of course it’s dangerous,” said Dorothea. They were planning an experimental surgery on an old man controlled by a powerful magical entity, nothing was safe about it. “The drugs will be in the caviar specifically, which the cooks know to be judicious with in their preparation. However it makes sense that the former head of state would be offered a more generous portion than the other guests.”

“And if he doesn’t eat it?” asked Linhardt with arms folded and an unamused stare.

“A backup,” said Mercedes slowly as she lifted a vial from her pockets and passed it to Dorothea.

The singer regarded the clear liquid. Tasteless, odorless, and extremely deadly if overdosed. “Be ready to improvise if he’s not yawning by the time we’re seated in the dining room. If other guests are dropping and he’s not, I will be slipping him this. It acts quickly, but it wears off just as fast. We won’t have much time if this is what we’re resorting to.” Dorothea looked out at her co-conspirators and then the dangerous vial. It was the same size as her red lipstick and would sit neatly inside of an emptied container in her pocket.

From the entryway, the distinctive sounds of Manuela echoed to the back of the house. The guests were arriving and Dorothea needed to become the perfect host, “Places everyone, our guest of honor is about to enter the scene.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the pieces fall into place, and promptly into chaos.

The parlor of Hubert’s home was well decorated thanks to Dorothea’s tastes, and prominently featured a piano. Apparently as a child Hubert had volunteered to learn to play the instrument instead of singing like Ferdinand von Aegir, or ballroom dancing like Princess Edelgard. He much preferred to provide accompaniment from the side rather than be the center of attention. These days he rarely played unless Dorothea asked him to. It was nice, in the early hours of the morning, to let someone else make the music for her to enjoy for a change.

Right now Dorothea was not enjoying anything even as a large smile dominated her face. Hanneman and Manuela were sipping cocktails in polite silence as Constance described a new spell she was working on in nauseating detail. The Duke of Gerth was cordial as he complimented Linhardt’s attire, and then fell for the bait by asking where they were from.

Lord Arundel arrived with two body guards in tow. They did not wear black beaked masks, but everything else about their manner reeked of dark magic and ill intent. Dorothea greeted him personally with an exaggerated kiss on each cheek. “Thank you for joining us this evening Lord Arundel. I regret to inform you that our host has been beset by a sudden illness,” said Dorothea as she led the former regent to the parlor.

“A stomach bug perhaps?” asked Arundel as his violet eyes flicked around the room taking in every guest.

“Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to be contagious,” promised Dorothea with a carefree laugh.

“Doesn’t it?” whispered Arundel for her ears alone. Her blood went cold as she watched him. His sharp gaze was dissecting everyone in the room; there was Byleth standing on the periphery with Mercedes, Linhardt near the center stealing attention away from Constance, and the various members of the staff trying to appear invisible as they moved about with appetizers.

He gave a nod to his body guards, who stepped away to position themselves along the walls of the parlor. Their eyes stayed on Byleth exclusively despite the mercenary’s attempts to be as inconspicuous as possible. At least now Dorothea knew who they perceived to be their biggest threat; hopefully that would be to Dorothea’s advantage. Arundel finally looked at her, his eyes never leaving hers as he spoke, “It is a pity the Marquis is unwell. I had something important I wished to discuss with him this evening. Perhaps later you might take me to him, so that he and I might have a private chat.”

Hubert was presently tied up in the basement. Dorothea wondered how hard it would be to get him safely back in his room. “Of course,” said Dorothea as she wondered if Arundel truly wanted to discuss anything, or just finish the job Hubert had attempted this morning with his razor. At the very least it might position him away from his body guards. “Excuse me, I have to go check on something,” she lied as she bowed to Arundel to extract herself from the conversation.

Dorothea was too nervous to eat as the drug laced canapés danced around the room on serving trays. Manuela was helping herself to perhaps a few too many as she laughed at Linhardt’s excruciating tale of getting left on a sand dune by his Morfis guide. Dorothea got Mercedes’ attention and kept her voice as low as possible, “Arundel would like to visit with Hubert, in his room. Would it be possible to get him up there?”

Mercedes pretended to laugh at a joke and then glanced in the direction of the cellar stairs. “I’ll go check on him, and get Emile to move him.”

“Wonderful, keep me posted if you need anything,” said Dorothea before cutting across the room to join in on Linhardt’s distracting story with the other guests.

Hanneman was enjoying the wine but clearly he had already heard all of Linhardt’s pertinent research highlights. The aged professor gave Dorothea a tight smile, and glanced at the ceiling, “I am sorry to hear Hubert has taken ill. Why did he not just cancel this dinner party?”

“Oh, it was too late for that, all the food was already made. He got an upset stomach just after lunch that only got worse and worse, and here we are,” said Dorothea. If she were his wife, no one would bat an eye about her taking over the role of host. However she wasn’t his noble wife, she was his commoner mistress.

“Well good thing he has you here to step in and handle his responsibilities for him,” said Hanneman, though Dorothea did not miss his slight frown.

His subtle judgment of her and Hubert’s unorthodox relationship did hurt. Dorothea felt her nose wrinkle and her face get unexpectedly hot, “Is there anything else you would like to add?”

Hanneman straightened up and shook his head, “Your private affairs are none of my business Dorothea.” He paused and his voice grew almost paternal, “I just hope that he is not taking you for granted. You are both talented young people, but I worry for your reputations if you proceed to carry on in such a manner.”

Their cover was destructive by design. It let them move easily through places they needed to spy, but it tore at their image in the eyes of everyone they cared about who did not know the truth. Hanneman, though he had no children of his own, had stepped in to be a father to both Dorothea and Hubert over the years. She imagined the way they cavorted now felt like a slap in the old professor’s face. He had raised them better than to be magnets for rumors of illicit behavior and scandalous affairs.

Dorothea excused herself to use the powder room. She stared at her reflection and tried to perk herself up. “This is just another role,” she whispered in desperation to believe such things. This wasn’t a part; it was her life.

She wanted to splash cold water on her face to calm down but that would ruin the facade of her make up. It was akin to armor; it made her look happy and healthy even when her lover was in peril and her own life hung in a precarious place. Dorothea took a few deep breaths and then practiced her smile a few times. As she exited the powder room she was caught by Mercedes before she could get back into the parlor.

“We have a slight problem,” said Mercedes with a strained smile. She was lingering near the door as if she needed to bolt back down to the basement.

Dorothea steeled herself for bad news, “What’s happening?”

“Whatever is inside Hubert is growing, quickly, and I need to take it out now. I’m afraid if I leave it any longer, it might burst,” said Mercedes. It was difficult to discern if she was more nervous or excited about the task.

Dorothrea suppressed her fears and horror. “And what do you need from me to get this done?” asked Dorothea as she leaned to look past Mercedes and into the parlor. Linhardt was telling a tall tale about his journey into the ruins in Morfis that seemed to be holding Arundel’s attention.

“I need an aria, perhaps two,” suggested Mercedes. She was tapping her fingers together rapidly. “Something to cover the noise.”

“What noise?” asked Dorothea. She was not prepared, vocally or emotionally, to give a solo on the fly.

“I’ll use a bit in his mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue, but Hubert might scream,” said Mercedes.

“He’s going to be awake?” Dorothea felt like vomiting on his behalf.

“I tried to sedate him. Whatever it is, it’s interfering with the chemicals, and he’s still awake,” said Mercedes.

Mercedes would never hurt someone without good cause. Dorothea covered her mouth and then took a deep breath in through her nose as she considered the longest possible solo she could perform. “Good thing Manuela is here. I’ll get her to play the piano,” said Dorothea as she mentally prepared for the task. Hopefully Manuela didn’t pass out while playing from too many canapés.

“Wonderful, I’ll have Emile give a signal when everything is in place for you to start,” said Mercedes with a wide smile. She paused and then took Dorothea’s hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. “I have been training for this for years, I will do everything I can to save him.”

Dorothea knew that Mercedes was trying to be comforting, but it was the last thing Dorothea wanted to think about. “Just go do it, please.” She plastered a smile upon her face as she entered the parlor, “Who’s ready for a song?”

*

Mercedes wished she could wear her mask for protection but the fact was she needed to see as well as possible. Hubert was shirtless on the table and appearing less than enthused about his situation. Emile had helpfully tied Hubert’s ankles and wrists to the legs of the table. Now Emile was by the door, just in case she needed him. They had as many candles as could be spared lit in the room.

Upstairs, Dorothea was warming up her voice. “This is going to hurt, a lot,” said Mercedes as she dabbed iodine on Hubert’s chest with a soaked cotton swab.

“Yes well it’s preferable to becoming a bloody Agarthan,” hissed Hubert. Mercedes shoved the leather strap into his mouth to shut him up. The piano had started up.

Mercedes washed her hands with extra soap and took a few deep breaths as she pulled her shiny new saw out of the boiling water. She was talking more for her benefit than his, although with his blindfold still on she figured he might appreciate the narration. “There is a mass at the jugular notch. I am going to make an incision and just pull out whatever it is. Hopefully it has not attached itself to your carotids.” What had been a mere fingernail sized mass just hours before was now an unsightly shiny red goiter protruding from his neck. It looked ready to burst, and given it’s location near all the blood supply to his brain Mercedes thought it best to cut it now.

Hubert let out a grunt as Mercedes sunk her blade into his flesh just superior to his sternum. She didn’t have to go deep, in fact she did not want to. It was just a shallow midline cut right near the junction of his voice-box and the trachea below. She was expecting a fatty mass or fascia, but it appeared to be something dark and coiled. Her forceps dove in as quickly as possible as she tried to grab the strange mass.

It moved. “Oh no,” whispered Mercedes as she wrenched out what appeared to be a blackened scale. Blood was bubbling out of the base of Hubert’s neck from his now deflated goiter. He was red faced biting the strap to prevent himself from yelling out. She pressed her free hand onto the wound and performed a healing spell. Upstairs there was clapping as Dorothea finished a particularly impressive section of her aria.

Mercedes forced a smile and held up the slimy scale, “Don’t panic, but, I think this is a bit more than a tumor.”

Hubert let out a muffled string of what she assumed were curses. Mercedes dropped the scale into her little metal basin and bit her lip. She set her forceps and saw back into the boiling water as she formulated a plan. Upstairs the sounds were shifting, and Mercedes knew her time was running out to both cover the noise and save her patient.

“Maybe it’s still in your neck,” she suggested as she began to gently palpate his skin. Something thick slid between his scalenes. Hubert let out a choked noise as his arm spasmed violently in response. “Oh that’s definitely it,” said Mercedes as she tried to follow it. It slid right from his neck, beneath his clavicle and down into his mediastinum. “Ah, well, it seems to be following the path of the deep cervical fascia—”

Hubert spit out the bit and snapped at her with impatience, “Get it out, get it out now!”

“Tell me what you’re feeling so I can figure out where it is,” ordered Mercedes. The thing had crept into his thorax and she could no longer locate it behind his ribs.

“Bad, I feel bad Mercedes,” barked Hubert. His face was growing pale as he started to gag.

“I think it’s slipping behind your esophagus right now to get past your diaphragm,” said Mercedes as Hubert shuddered in his restraints.

Hubert jolted in place and let out a groan, “It feels like my stomach is on fire.”

“Does it hurt above or below your belly button?” Mercedes was at a loss for what she was supposed to do in this situation. She couldn’t just slice him open and and start taking things out in search of the mysterious mass.

Hubert twisted in pain as his coloration drained away completely, “Above.”

“Maybe it’s hiding in your guts,” suggested Mercedes enthusiastically as she began palpating his abdomen. Suddenly a long, slender object coursed beneath the skin from the upper left to right quadrants before diving deep. It reminded her vaguely of a snake, and it was still growing. “That’s it!” She looked at Hubert with an apologetic expression, “I’m going in.” She fixed the leather back in his mouth. He was definitely going to scream. “Emile, hold his head still and keep his mouth shut.” Her brother wordlessly complied.

She decided an inferior approach would be best. Mercedes made her incision so that it split along the center of his rectus abdominus muscles. Blood oozed from the cut as Mercedes pierced his peritoneum. “I am so sorry,” repeated Mercedes as she shoved her hand into his abdominal cavity to gently probe around. Upstairs Dorothea was sustaining a long high note.

Hubert emitted an agonizing throe as Mercedes shoved some of his mesentery out of the way. She got her hand around the wriggling mass and tried to work it free. “I think it’s wrapped about your portal vein.” That was not ideal. If that tore open Hubert would expire in mere seconds. Mercedes yelped as her hand seared with a sudden pain. She snatched it out and saw two fangs sunk deep into the meat of her thumb. “ _Bastard_ ,” uttered Mercedes in disbelief.

Emile stared at her for the uncharacteristic outburst. That bite had really hurt and she didn’t know what else to say! It was a bastard, and now it was about to be a dead one. Mercedes frowned and shot Nosferatu at the bug, sapping its life force away and imbuing her with a rush of energy. That did it in, although her spell had also left Hubert looking more murder victim than Marquis. Mercedes removed the neutralized parasite and poured all her focus into healing Hubert back from the brink of death. Upstairs there was a round of applause that Mercedes silently took for herself for her own performance.

She’d left Hubert with an unpleasantly long scar down his midsection but he was still breathing, albeit shallowly. She had successfully performed the first live Agarthan extraction in history, but it would only be noteworthy if Hubert recovered from this traumatic impromptu surgery. He was going to need weeks, if not months, of intensive healing to recover from this fiasco. “Emile, would you be a dear and please put Hubert up in his bed? I’ll be up shortly.” She watched her brother carrying Hubert up the stairs and turned her attention to her own emergent situation.

Mercedes was feeling exceptionally warm as she peeled off her outer layers. Her doctoring robes had taken the brunt of the blood, but some of it had soaked through to her cream colored dress underneath. She would not be presentable to go back to the party. That was the least of her worries.

Her hand shook as she delicately removed the fangs from her flesh and looked at them up close. There was a hollowed tip to them, suggesting very much that she might have been poisoned. Given the way the sweat was rolling down her neck now she suspected that was the case.

Mercedes took a precautionary healing potion and set to examining the parasite up close. It had gone from the size of a measly fingernail to a full blown foot long fanged segmented millipede like creature in a few hours. At least it was dead. As she stared at it her stomach turned and Mercedes found herself feeling faint.

She managed to have the wherewithal to sit down on the floor as she stared at her hand, now swelling around the puncture holes. Up on the table she heard a small clinking of her tools as something shifted and moved. Mercedes eyes fluttered up just in time to see the parasite dropping from the examination table onto floor. It was slithering straight towards her as the venom made her world go dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter, in which dinner is served, will be posted on March 21 for the final day of Dorobert weekend. Cheers.

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea for this from the Dorobert weekend prompt day 3: spy thriller, and also the r/darkfics February monthly challenge.


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